


I Live My Life By The Moon

by palmyre



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ghosts, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Foster Care, Ghosts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-20
Updated: 2013-11-20
Packaged: 2018-01-02 03:31:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1052024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/palmyre/pseuds/palmyre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You have this… this gift,” Enjolras said, sounding completely lost at sea. “This extraordinary, miraculous ability which extends beyond the reach of Death itself. And you have no notion of why this is?”</p><p>Éponine can see ghosts, and her new foster home comes with a bonus 19th century Frenchman. (The Mediator AU)</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Live My Life By The Moon

_I bet no one came._

It was what Éponine had been dreading for weeks now. Even as she forced a smile on her face—so as not to alarm a beaming Azelma and Gavroche (who kept bouncing up and down even as she clutched his hand)—Éponine could barely swallow against the thick bile of trepidation in her throat. She kept roving her eyes over the noisy crowd of travelers and happy families in front of her, but she didn’t really see any of them. Just a mass of faces that made her want to grab her siblings and rush back for the bus.

 _Maybe it’s still here and we can get back to Montfermeil before sunset_ , Éponine thought wildly. Except it wouldn’t be back to her family’s cramped and smelly apartment, would it? They could never go back there. No, if they ever went back to Montfermeil, it would be to the group home where Social Services had sent them. The one with the mean-spirited and frustrated workers and hollow-eyed children who terrified Éponine (did she look like them? She was only sixteen. Wasn’t that too young to look so empty? The things she’d seen and heard, though…).

“Do you see her yet?” Azelma asked, grabbing Éponine’s shoulder. She hadn’t stopped smiling since they’d boarded the bus. She and Gavroche had spent the entire journey chatting about their new foster family—what little they knew, anyway. Azelma had clutched her tiny pink purse—the last gift their father had given her—and wistfully stared out the window of the bus, as if she could already see their new and happy life before her.

So despite all of Éponine’s misgivings, despite all her anxiety and dread, and despite the fact that it was 20 minutes past the time they should have been picked up, she couldn’t bear to voice any of it to her sister and destroy her optimism.

She squeezed Gavroche’s small hand and refused to let her smile falter. “I’m sure she’ll be here any minute now.”

Azelma pursed her lips. “She knows what we look like, right?”

“How many other groups of three lost-looking orphans do you see in this station?” Éponine grumbled.

“’Ponine! We are not orphans!” Azelma said, eyes wide. “We’re just… estranged from our biological parents. Briefly!”

Éponine swallowed back a bitter laugh. The memory of her parents was like a scab on her knee – even though it was disgusting and painful, she couldn’t stop picking at with a dogged viciousness. All she wanted was to forget about them and move on. Gavroche already seemed to have done just that; Azelma, however, still clung to the hope that Mama and Papa would come to their senses and fix themselves up, so Social Services would let them go back.

“I know you want to see them again,” Éponine said, “but I hope you know… it’s probably going to be a while—”

“There she is!”

Éponine and Azelma both jumped, and Éponine was glad she’d tightened her grip because Gavroche tried to take off like a shot into the crowd.

“ _Gav_!” she cried. “What the hell?”

Gavroche’s eyes sparkled. “I see her! She’s waving at us, look!” he said, practically hopping in place.

“Where?” Azelma gasped.

Éponine squinted, and then she saw her too. A slender woman with modishly short hair made her way to them, a large white cardboard sign in her hands. She had a wide, sunny grin and friendly eyes.

When she came closer, Éponine could see she was fairly young, maybe only in her early 30s.  She was dressed smartly, clad in a dove-gray coat to ward off the cold air. Éponine felt like shrinking even further into her too-big ratty jacket.

“I can’t believe I’m late, I am so sorry!” said the woman. “I wanted to be here to welcome you three right off the bus. Look, I even made this sign for you!”

She held it up so they could see the large, loopy and glittery letters that read WELCOME EP, ZEL, AND GAV!!

Éponine hated being called ‘Ep’ so she stayed silent, but Azelma clapped her hands to her cheeks and Gavroche beamed toothily.

The woman seemed pleased by her siblings’ reactions. “It’s so nice to meet you! My name’s Fantine.”

“We know,” said Azelma somewhat shyly.

Fantine looked at her fondly. Éponine wasn’t surprised; her little sister had a way of quickly endearing people to her.

“You look a little younger than your sister, so I’m going to guess that you’re Azelma?” Fantine asked. Azelma nodded. “So that makes _you_ Éponine.”

“It does,” Éponine said, and cursed silently at how sullen she sounded. Fantine didn’t notice, already turning to Gavroche.

“Hey, kid. I like your shirt. You ready to see your new place?” Fantine asked.

Gavroche nodded. “Hell yes!”

“Gavroche,” Éponine hissed while Azelma turned pink.

Fantine tilted her head back and laughed. “It’s okay! Trust me,  I have heard much worse from the boys and their friends. I’m pretty used to it by now. Come on, it’s a long walk to my car, unfortunately. Parking was a mess.”

 _Who on earth are ‘the boys’?_ Éponine wondered as she zipped up her brother’s windbreaker and followed Fantine out of the station. Her trepidation returned with a vengeance.

///

When Fantine pulled into the driveway of where they’d be staying, Éponine’s eyes nearly fell out of her sockets. Her jaw had dropped lower and lower as they’d passed all the huge, sprawling houses in the street, but this? This was unbelievable.

“Welcome to Montreuil-sur-Mer!” announced Fantine cheerfully. “I know, it’s a mouthful. Valjean picked it. It’s a real tongue twister, huh?”

“Bet you can’t say it five times fast,” Gavroche said, poking Azelma in the side. She shrieked and twisted away while trying to smack him at the same time.

Éponine snapped her wide-eyed stare away from the stately, white colonial mansion to glare at her kid brother and sister. “Will you two please behave?” she said through gritted teeth, acutely aware of Fantine’s keen gaze. Honestly, thanks to Gavroche, she wouldn’t be surprised if their new foster home sent them back before the day was over.

Gavroche, scowling, looked ready to argue, but Fantine quickly stepped in. “Hey, let’s get all your stuff and look at your rooms, okay guys?”

Azelma scrambled out of the backseat, nearly trampling Gav. “Ohmygod,” she breathed. “I can’t wait to see my room!”

“You mean _our_ new room.” Éponine reminded her as she heaved her suitcase out of the trunk.

Fantine grabbed the suitcase from her hands before Éponine could blink. “Actually, you girls will be getting your own room each. Gav will have to share, though.”

“Aww,” said Gavroche, wrinkling his nose.

“Don’t worry, kid,” Fantine said. She ruffled his hair. “You’ll love it. R and Feuilly are great. You’re all in the attic and it’s huge. It’ll be like a sleepover every night, I promise.”

Fantine looked back once before unlocking the front door. “Ladies? You coming?”

Azelma didn’t twitch. She seemed frozen to her spot. Eyes wide, she whispered, “I get my own room?”

The same sentence echoed in Éponine’s brain. She wished she was still holding her suitcase so she had something to grab onto. Or maybe somewhere to sit down, because her legs were shaking a little.

Something softened in Fantine’s face. “Yeah,” she said, a little gently. As if dealing with a couple of mental patients, Éponine thought with a hot rush of embarrassment.

“Awesome,” Éponine said, forcing herself to sound coolly nonchalant. “Let’s go.”

They entered into, of all things, a large and open foyer. It was almost like a hotel. The floor was gleaming black wood and all the walls were a dazzling, regal white. Framed art and glass vases of flowers provided bright pops of color. Éponine hunched in her shoulders, afraid to leave a mark or smear somewhere.

“Wow,” sighed Azelma. “This is beautiful.”

“It is,” agreed Fantine. “It also looks too cold and snobby. Valjean hates it, but he hasn’t renovated it yet. Let me show you the living room.”

Éponine’s estimation of Jean Valjean rose slightly in the wake of that disclosure. All she knew about their new foster father was that he was a rich businessman who liked to do a lot of charity work. She assumed the foyer had been a perfect representation of his personality: aloof wealth with some objects of art to show off.

The living room was a far cry from the coldness of the previous room. Éponine’s lips curved into a smile when she saw the warm reds and browns of the room, the comfy and slightly squashed looking sofas, and the giant TV with a Playstation, Xbox, and several hundred DVDs clustered around it. There were pictures hanging haphazardly all over the walls, and an especially large one over the fireplace.

Éponine examined it from the corner of her eye. A distinguished man with graying temples and a crinkly-eyed smile stood over a glowingly happy, grandfatherly person in a chair. On the other side of the old man, clutching his arm, was a rosy-cheeked teenage girl with thick gold curls. Her sparkling eyes looked familiar, and Éponine narrowed her eyes.  

“Oh!” she said as realization hit her. “It’s you!”

Both Azelma and Gavroche swiveled around to stare at the picture, and Fantine chuckled.

“Yes, that’s me. That was taken some years back. I was about your age,” she said, nodding at Éponine. “And it was taken shortly after my adoption was finalized.”

“Who are those old men with you?” asked Gavroche. Éponine closed her eyes and sighed.

“Well, you’ll be meeting one of them very soon. The younger one is Valjean, my adopted father.” Fantine’s smile warmed further. “And the other is Grandpa Welcome. Valjean’s adopted dad. He was an amazing man.”

“Wow,” said Azelma. She was saying that a lot, Éponine noted.

“Pretty much,” said Fantine. She checked her watch. “Okay, I’ll have to give you guys the proper tour later. Let’s check out your rooms now. I wanted you all to settle in a bit before everyone shows up.”

Éponine’s heart thudded painfully. “Everyone?” she echoed.

Fantine came up next to her and gently led them out of the living room, towards a wide staircase.

“Valjean for one. He’s getting dinner for us all. The boys went with him to help—that’s Grantaire and Feuilly,” added Fantine at Azelma’s bemused face. “They live here as well. Grantaire’s about Éponine’s age, and Feuilly’s as old as you.”

Éponine nearly groaned out loud when she saw how Azelma shone at _that_. She could just see the pink sugary-sweet romantic fantasies her sister was spinning in her head.

“And Cosette’s tagging along with them too,” Fantine said. “She’s my daughter.”

Gavroche bounded up the stairs like an especially rambunctious golden retriever. “Is she your _adopted_ daughter?”

There was a short beat of sharp silence at that, as for the first time Fantine didn’t laugh at Gavroche’s cheekiness. Then she smiled somewhat wryly and shook her head. “No, Cosette is all mine.”

“Watch it, Gav,” Éponine whispered as Fantine busied herself opening a door.

Gavroche’s hushed _sorry_ was drowned out by Azelma’s sudden shrieking.

“Oh my God! Oh my God, no way!” she cried, clasping her hands. All her excitement seemed to bubble over like a fizzing drink. She did a little elated dance in the middle of the corridor. “This is _my_ room? Seriously?”

Fantine glowed. “Seriously. Cosette and I wanted you girls to have the perfect bedrooms. She’ll be thrilled that you like it.”

Éponine edged in a bit and glanced over their shoulders. Azelma skipped into her new room and Éponine got a better look. It was larger than at least half of their apartment, and the quintessential space for a feminine, idealistic girl who liked to write in a diary and read YA romances. The soft sunset-pink walls and bedspread, the lacy curtains, and princess vanity were perfect for Azelma.

Éponine prayed her own bedroom looked nothing like this.

“It’s really nice,” she said. Her voice came out a little gruff, and she didn’t think Fantine even heard her over Azelma’s happy squeals. Gavroche looked torn between horror and amusement as he eyed a giant fluffy teddy bear lounging against the pillows.

The pretty chime of a doorbell pealed throughout the house.

“Oh sh- _oot_ ,” swore Fantine. “They’re here. I thought I could make it to all the bedrooms in time. Why did I have to be running late today of all days?”

“Is that Mr. Valjean?” asked Azelma. The nervousness of meeting their new guardian seemed to have overtaken her excitement considerably. Her hands rubbed at the sides of her skirt.

“I think so,” said Fantine kindly. “You guys ready? He’s been looking forward to seeing you three for a long time.”

Éponine sucked her bottom lip between her teeth. “Let’s go,” she said, sounding hollow to her ears.

They trudged down the stairs after Fantine, who hollered, “I’m COMING, geez!” as the doorbell rang again and again.

She flung open the front door and a broad-shouldered man in a dark coat swept in, his face ducked down. His arms were full of takeaway boxes and a large plastic bag hung from the crook of his arm. A slender figure with long blonde hair under a woolen cap followed him inside.

“You won’t believe how cold it is outside,” the blonde girl said. “I almost—oh!”

She started, her wide blue eyes widening even more as she saw the three Thénardier siblings huddled behind Fantine. Then she broke out into a huge, pearly-toothed grin. “Oh, you’re here! I’m so glad! I was afraid your bus would be late because of the weather!”

“Fantine?” Valjean quietly beckoned, and she hastened to help him with his burden of food. Once his load was lightened, the man turned to them, his face shining with warmth.

He’d aged since the picture above the fireplace had been taken, although he’d done it gracefully. His dark hair was more salt-and-peppery now, and tousled by the wind. There were newer laugh-lines around his eyes and mouth but they made him look so kind and amiable. He pulled off his gloves and stuffed them into his pocket before extending his hand.

“You must be Miss Éponine Thénardier,” Jean Valjean greeted. “I’m so delighted to finally meet you.”

Éponine hesitantly shook his proffered hand. “Thanks,” she said. “And, um, me too.”

He smiled at her one last time before moving to her siblings. “Miss Azelma? I hope your journey wasn’t difficult.”

Azelma’s eyes danced. “It wasn’t! It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Valjean.”

“Can we call you Jean?” Gavroche butt in.

Before Éponine could hiss out one chastising syllable, Jean threw his head back and laughed. He looked a little like his daughter when he did that.

“And this young gentleman is Gavroche, yes?” he said, still chuckling.

“You got that right,” Gav said.

“Well, Gavroche, please don’t hesitate to call me Jean.”

“I don’t think he’s the type to hesitate about anything,” said the blonde girl, laughing musically.

Fantine came back, having put away the takeaway cartons. “Cosette, have you introduced yourself yet?” she scolded lightly.

“I think you just did for me, Mama,” said Cosette. She tossed her sleek golden hair over her shoulder and beamed beautifully at them. It was like looking at a Vogue cover. “I’m Cosette, as you’ve now learned. And you’ll meet R—sorry, Grantaire—and Feuilly in a second… they went to get pizza, but they were right behind us on the way home…”

Cosette was cut off as the door burst open and two people sprang inside, their arms laden with pizza boxes.

“Honestly, how fast were you going, Cosette?” one of them complained loudly. “You took that turn like we were the cops.”

“This is why you’re still stuck with your learner’s,” the other added. His bright ginger hair stuck out in all directions.

Color rose into Cosette’s cheeks. “Excuse me,” she sputtered. “Will you two at least behave in front of people you haven’t even met yet?”

“Hold on,” said the boy with the dark, messy curls. He shifted the pizza to one arm, and stuck out his free hand. “Hello, m’name’s Grantaire. But call me R.”

Éponine gingerly shook his too-warm hand and hurriedly let go. “Um. I’m Éponine. Or ‘Ponine.”

“I’m Azelma,” said her sister with a small half-wave. “And this is Gav.”

Gavroche didn’t tear his eyes away from the pizza.

“A genuine pleasure to make your introduction,” said Grantaire easily. “And since we’re no longer strangers… Cosette, you drive like a freaking maniac.”

“Feuilly,” the ginger introduced himself as R and Cosette erupted into furious bickering behind him. “Can we eat now, Fantine? I bet everyone’s starving.”

Cosette and Grantaire continued to squabble as the whole party (Éponine marveled at how many of them there were; dinners at the Thénardier household were just the kids, with the parents God-knows-where) filed into the dining room. It was less stately than the entrance hall, but still impressive enough to make her nervous.

Fantine had set down a tall stack of plates and various cutlery. The cartons of food—Chinese, Italian, and maybe Thai?—were already open and steaming deliciously. Grantaire and Feuilly dumped the pizza next to the rest of the food and wasted no time in grabbing plates.

“As you can see,” Cosette said, rolling her eyes, “some people here have no manners. But please, ignore them and enjoy your food.”

“Yeah, enjoy it while you can,” said Grantaire. “Once you see Cosette eat you won’t even want to look at food. She’s kind of a pig.”

Azelma giggled into her slice of extra cheese as Cosette hacked a cough right into Grantaire’s plate. He shrieked.

“That’s so gross,” said Feuilly, sounded exceedingly impressed.

Dinner passed in an inharmonious stream of chatter, quarreling, and laughter. Occasionally either Valjean or Fantine would interject, reeling in the kids to keep Éponine and Azelma from getting overwhelmed. It was like being in a sitcom, Éponine mused. She had a hard time believing she was going to be living here for the foreseeable future.

She was starting her second helping of shrimp lo mein when Cosette brought up the subject she’d been dreading.

“So have you guys picked your classes yet?” she asked, delicately twirling a strand of noodle around her chopsticks.

Éponine clenched her jaw and even Azelma winced lightly. Gavroche just stared resolutely at his plate.

Neither of the Thénardier kids felt very warmly towards school in general. It wasn’t like the regular grumblings of children who hated homework or their strict teachers. School was a special nightmare when you were dirt-poor, came to class in smelly and wrinkly clothes, had everyone—even the teachers—make fun of your unwashed hair, and escaped to the bathroom during lunch because you couldn’t afford anything to eat. Éponine had never seen anything higher than a D on her report cards since the fifth grade, Azelma skipped everything but English and History, and Gavroche once spent a semester alternating between classes two grade levels lower and two levels higher without anyone noticing.

Then you threw in Éponine’s little condition and life was a waking nightmare.

It was going to be even worse this year, Éponine knew, because while her last school had been an average public high school, Valjean was sending them to an elite private K-12 school. A _Catholic_ school.

Éponine tried inconspicuously to push away her plate of half-eaten food.

“You know, ‘Ponine,” said Fantine lightly, “Grantaire and Cosette are in the same grade as you. And Azelma, you’re with Feuilly. They would love to help you both out. And I think I can convince Principal Javert to let Cosette guide Gavroche for a week or so.”

“Yeah, it’s no problem,” said Grantaire through a mouth full of linguine. He wiped his chin using the back of his sleeve, and Éponine noticed with mild interest that he had dried paint under his fingernails and on his knuckles.

“I’d be happy to,” said Feuilly to Azelma, who blushed charmingly.

Halfway through dessert (a heavenly coconut cream pie Cosette claimed to have “quickly whipped up”), Azelma let out a jaw-cracking yawn.

“Oh dear, you must be exhausted,” said Valjean kindly as Azelma avoided everyone’s eyes in embarrassment. “Why don’t the three of you tuck yourselves in for the night? You can sleep in tomorrow, since it’s Saturday and all.”

“I’m beat too,” said Grantaire, stretching obtrusively. “Fantine had us running all over the house, cleaning and moving furniture for _hours_.”

Fantine rolled her eyes. “Would you hush and please show Gavroche to his room? ‘Ponine and ‘Zelma, follow me.”

They left Azelma in her beloved new bedroom, and then Fantine smiled affectionately at Éponine and led her to the room at the end of the hall.

“I hope it’s to your liking,” she said. “If you want anything changed, anything at all—”

 “I’m sure it’s fine,” said Éponine hastily. Fantine hummed noncommittally and opened the door.

It wasn’t pink; Éponine wasn’t sure what she would have done with that. Instead, it was a quiet, calming blue like the still sea. Plain but quaint white curtains fluttered gently as a ceiling fan made lazy rounds.

Feeling awkward hovering in the doorway like a stranger, Éponine stepped inside. Her bed was a little ostentatious—it was an honest-to-god four-poster made out of rich cherry wood. Still, something self-indulgent and romantic inside Éponine warmed upon looking at it.

“You haven’t even seen the window yet!” said Fantine. “Too bad it’s dark now, the view is spectacular.”

Éponine turned around.

The man standing in front of the bay window stared back at her, blankly.

Éponine jerked back, her hands balling into fists.

“Éponine? What’s wrong?” she heard Fantine ask as if from a great distance. She didn’t even glance towards the man’s direction.

The man standing at the window—tall, blonde, very imperious cheekbones—frowned.

She could see it now, Éponine realized dully. The faint, shimmery glow around him. She should have seen this coming. Why did she think this place would be any different?

“It’s  nothing, Fantine,” she replied, without removing her even stare. It unnerved the stranger. He twitched under her direct gaze, and even, hilariously, glanced over his shoulder. As if someone was hovering outside the window, two stories off the ground.

Well, in his realm, that probably wasn’t so far-fetched.

Éponine shook her head lightly and hoped her smile didn’t come out too strained. “It’s nothing, seriously, I was just. A bit overwhelmed. This room is lovely.”

The lies were spilling out smoothly one after the other. It almost made everything feel like home.

Fantine’s eyebrows drew in together. “Are you sure?” she asked, resting her hand on Éponine’s arm. “If there’s a problem with the room, or, well, the whole situation—”

If she ended up getting Azelma and Gavroche kicked out of their absolute best chance at a home, Éponine would kill herself. “No! I swear, there’s nothing wrong. This is just all so much to take in, you know? I promise, I promise, I’m totally fine.”

Fantine hesitated, then slung her arm around Éponine’s shoulders in a loose hug.

“I know this might sound really corny, but I’ve been there. I’ve been _here_. It can be a little much at times. I wish I had some more time to ease you into all this… I shouldn’t have unloaded everyone at you all at once. God knows Grantaire and Cosette are enough to make _me_ want to move to the South Pole sometimes.”

Éponine burbled out a weak laugh. “It’s fine,” she said. “I’m okay.”

She had to turn her back towards the stranger, because she it made her hair rise on end to feel him looking at her as she got all emotional.

“Great,” said Fantine easily. She drew back a little. “But okay or not, I’m here if you want to talk or gossip or vent. Or if you want to use my punching bag. It’s a life-saver.”

Éponine lowered her head and smiled at her feet. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Fantine gave her one last squeeze then left, closing the door softly behind her.

“Goodnight!” Éponine cried. She took a long, deep breath. Then another. Steeling herself, she neatly turned on her heel. She leveled her best straightforward stare right at Sir Cheekbones.

“All right, Patrick Swayze,” Éponine said. “Name, age, and date of death.”

 ///

He boggled at her. “Excuse me?”

Éponine raised an eyebrow. “Do I need to repeat myself? Because I really don’t like doing that.”

“I do not understand,” he croaked.

“Uh-huh, and I get that, trust me. But the faster we get this over with, the better. So let’s just go with the basics—”

“Who in God’s name is Swayze,” said Cheekbones, “and why have you taken me for him?”

“Okay, I’ll admit, that one was my fault. Shouldn’t have used a twentieth century reference.”

“We are in the twenty- _first_ century, citoyenne.”

Éponine rolled her eyes. “I think I’m aware of that. All right, come on, you may have forever but I don’t. Name, please.”

“If I give you my name,” he said, eyeing her shrewdly, “will you tell me why—and how—you can… see me?”

“You mean why I can see ghosts?”

His cheekbones looked especially fine when he grit his teeth. “Yes. That.”

“Yeah, okay,” said Éponine with a shrug.

He nodded. “We have a deal, then. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Éponine. My name is Enjolras.”

“Enjolras?” she repeated carefully. He smiled politely. “You know, I’d make a joke about the whole single name thing like you’re _Beyoncé_ or something—sorry, I know, references—but you’re not the first one of those I’ve encountered today, so. Nice to meet you, Enjolras.”

“And now your end of the bargain?” he broached after she remained where she was, looking at him critically. What time period were those clothes? Turn of the century? The Regency era?

“Oh, right! The whole how-I-can-see-dead-people shebang. Well, here’s the entire sordid, twisted tale.” Éponine took a deep breath:

“I have no clue.”

Enjolras blinked. “Pardon?”

Éponine beamed. “You heard me. No idea whatsoever,” she said.

“I don’t understand.”

“Yeah, I’m gathering that’s an issue with you.”

“You have this… this gift,” Enjolras said, sounding completely lost at sea. “This extraordinary, miraculous ability which extends beyond the reach of Death itself. And you have _no notion_ of why this is?”

He said it as if she’d never considered the same thing before. Éponine tried to make a _what can you do_ gesture, but felt as if it came across more like uncoordinated jazz hands. Enjolras looked no less bewildered.

“You could be some sort of bridge between life and death,” he said.

“That sounds like a lot of responsibility,” replied Éponine.

Enjolras pressed his lips together. They were nice, thin lips. Noble-looking. “How long have you possessed this facility?” he asked.

Éponine shrugged. “Since I was two? I think. That’s just the first time I remember seeing one of you.”

“You mean a ghost,” Enjolras said.

“Yeah. She was kind of old. I found her in one of the rooms at my mom and dad’s bed-and-breakfast. I was playing hide-and-seek and she was just… there.”

“Did she tell you anything useful?” Enjolras asked.

Éponine sighed. “No, not really. I didn’t even realize she was a ghost until my mom came in and didn’t see her. I thought it was weird at first, but I brushed it off. It wasn’t until I got older and saw a lot more dead people that I realized what had happened back then.”

Enjolras stepped forward, face brightening. “A lot more dead people? How many ghosts have you seen, Miss Éponine?”

She had to admit, he had an appealing way of saying her name. He pronounced the accented E perfectly, and the way he rolled her name in his mouth, all round vowels and fine sharpness…

Right. Well.

“Not a whole lot,” Éponine said, praying her cheeks weren’t red. “Less than fifty, I’m sure. I would kind of run into them around the inn or sometimes in the city. Not everyone who dies ends up a ghost, you know.”

“I know,” said Enjolras, his face clouded. He clasped his hands behind his back.

“… Right.” Éponine coughed. “Well, in my experience, it’s mostly people who have unfinished business and stuff. _Tell my son I was always proud of him_ and _Give this to my husband_ , you know.”

“And do you?”

Éponine stared. “Do I what?” she asked.

“Do you help them with their unfinished business?” Enjolras looked at her somberly. “Do they move on when you do?”

“Oh! Um, well,” Éponine floundered. “I do my best. Ghosts can get a little annoying. They’re very persistent. You can only ignore them for so long. I used to do my best when I was younger, but after a while I realized it was just easier to help them as quickly as possible and get them to leave.”

“How altruistic,” said Enjolras dryly. “Clearly this gift finds its home within the worthiest of souls.”

“Hey, fuck off,” snapped Éponine. Enjolras had clearly been lingering around this house for a long time, because he barely blinked. “I’d like to see how well you handle strangers hounding you about their personal problems when you’re a teenager.”

Enjolras pushed his shoulders back, his chest proudly sticking out a bit. “Actually, I was a part of a group of students who fought for the betterment of marginalized—”

“No, seriously, fuck right off,” Éponine grumbled. “Bet you didn’t have to handle them at 3 in the morning in your pajamas.”

Those noble, thin lips twitched into a smile. “Actually—”

Éponine flung her hands up. “Mercy, mercy! Please, as fascinating as your old-timey stories are, I’d like to stick to the plan, dig?”

Enjolras sighed. “As you wish, Miss Éponine,” he said.

Feeling bone-tired, Éponine trudged to her and dropped down onto the soft mattress. Her entire body, which felt like it’d been working double-time all day, screamed from exhaustion.

“You can drop the ‘Miss’,” said Éponine wearily. “I’ve gotten enough of that today to last a lifetime.”

“If you wish to turn in, I will leave you alone,” said Enjolras.

Éponine shook her head. “I can’t believe I have to share my room with a guy. A _dead_ guy.”

When she glanced at Enjolras, she marveled at the two spots of color high in his cheeks.

“Of course I would never even think to—I don’t—”

“Calm down!” cried Éponine. “It’s fine. Just… make sure you’re not around when I’m getting dressed, all right?”

Enjolras’s fair complexion had become a bright splotchy red. He sputtered, equal parts indignant and embarrassed. “Of course not!  I mean, yes, I will respect your privacy.”

“Great.” Éponine eyed her suitcase and pondered the pros and cons of just sleeping in her jeans. Was it too much of an effort to rummage through her stuff and unearth some pajamas?

Or she could just sleep in the nude. Éponine tucked her thumbs under the hem of her T-shirt and raised her eyebrows at Enjolras. “If you don’t want a show in the next two seconds…”

He vanished.

 


End file.
